Crime Traveller:The Night Before the Morning After
by EllisHendricks
Summary: Crime Traveller, time-travel, Holly/Slade romance: Missing scenes from 'Fashion Shoot' - what happened after Holly threw her mug of beer over Slade?


**The Night Before the Morning After**

_Author's note: After their little 'misunderstanding', we see Holly and Slade go their separate ways to bed. We don't see them again until the next morning, so what was going through their heads in those missing hours?_

"This is the bedroom – one bed, one mattress, one duvet!"

"I'm sleeping down here!"

"Yep, that's exactly what I'm telling you."

Jeff Slade slammed the bedroom door behind him and pulled his beer-soaked shirt over his head. He aimed it angrily at the laundry basket in the corner, and didn't bother to pick it up when it landed several inches short of its target. He stood there in the middle of the room and ran both hands through his hair; both his hair and his skin would stink of stale alcohol by the morning, but there was no way that he was going back downstairs to the bathroom.

The weird thing was that he wasn't quite sure what just happened. One minute they were getting on fine – better than fine – and the next thing he was covered in expensive, imported beer. Somewhere in between, Holly had accused him of spending the night – that same night – with Sonja Duvall, and the strange thing was just how adamant she was about it. She reckoned she had heard him boasting about it, but how could she have?

He didn't care. If Holly had been prepared to hear him out, to talk about it rationally, then he could have told her that it was he who they'd seen on night duty in the church – but there was obviously no reasoning with her.

Slade sat down on the end of the bed and used a towel to rough-dry his hair. He stripped down to his underwear and climbed under the covers; he hated going to sleep without brushing his teeth, but again, the location of the bathroom gave him no choice. He turned off the main light and just sat there for a while. The flat was quiet, so he assumed that downstairs, Holly must have decided to try and get some sleep. He wondered for a moment whether she would stay at all, because despite what had just happened, he didn't want her doing something stupid like sleeping in the car or just wandering the streets all night. Actually, those were the sort of things that he might do – Holly was far too sensible for that.

In the darkness and silence, Slade was forced to think about what might have happened and what he wanted to happen – and whether they were the same thing. When he had suggested she come back to his flat, he had absolutely no notion of their going to bed together. In fact, the whole thing had felt a bit awkward at first; after all, they were no longer operating in a work context, not really. Slade had felt a little self-conscious about his surroundings – it was the first time he'd ever played host, and he hadn't anticipated it. But once they sat down to dinner, they both started to relax; dinner became drinks and more conversation, and Slade knew that they both felt the atmosphere changing. Suddenly, he started to feel that this could work. For a while he'd had the impression that Holly might have feelings for him, but despite any physical attraction he felt in return, he wasn't planning to pursue it. He wasn't really looking for anything, wasn't sure he was even ready. Besides, he thought, they would probably match a terrible match, and it would all just be too complicated.

But as they'd sat together on the sofa, the beer settling them both into a state of easy relaxation, the signals from Holly seemed clear – and Slade found himself wanting to act on them, despite what his good sense might be trying to tell him. He stopped thinking about what would happen beyond the next few minutes, the next hour; those practicalities were replaced by a consuming preoccupation with what it might be like to kiss Holly, and more.

But thwarted expectations were not the reason he felt so angry now. In fact, Slade was starting to feel that it was all a bit of a wake-up call – all the reasons why he'd felt this was a bad idea were now flooding back to him in glorious technicolour. Relationships at work were tricky, and anyone who took on Holly Turner had to possess a special type of patience and understanding. He was no perfect catch himself, he knew that, but where did Holly get off making an accusation like that? She actually thought that he was the kind of man who would sleep with someone he was meant to be protecting – and not only that, but casually brag about it, too? She must really be determined to see the worst in him. But at the same time, the ferocity of her reaction and the unmistakable tears in her eyes told Slade that he had been right – she wouldn't have responded as she did if she didn't have feelings for him.

Slade looked at his watch and sighed. It was after midnight, and they would have to be up early if they wanted to see what Linda Duvall got up to before the fashion show. He wasn't looking forward to his next conversation with Holly, but for now, sleep had to be his priority.

When Slade slammed the door to his bedroom, Holly was left standing in the living area at a loss over what to do. She was still holding the mug she'd been drinking from, and she set it down on the coffee table – what sort of person didn't even own a drinking glass? She swept her hand across her face, mortified by the fact that she had nearly started to cry. How dare Slade make her feel that way, when it was he who was entirely in the wrong?

Holly sank into the sofa and looked around her. There was nothing that would lend itself to being used as a pillow or duvet, so it looked like she would have a thoroughly uncomfortable night. When she thought about what the alternative might have been, Holly was caught somewhere between embarrassment and anger; anger at what Slade had tried to do, but embarrassment at how much she had wanted it to happen – before she'd remembered what he'd done, of course.

She went in search of a bathroom, and found it through a door off the kitchen. Like the rest of Slade's flat, the bathroom was Spartan, with a couple of towels, a bottle of shampoo and a shaving kit the only items in view. Holly examined her reflection in the mirror and had to stop the urge to bury her head in her hands. What had she been thinking? She had to face the obvious – that she had been ready to go to bed with Jeff Slade. The stupid crush, or whatever it was that she'd had for so long, had got out of control, and she'd almost let him take advantage of her. Almost.

Holly splashed her face with cold water, turned off the living room light and headed back to the sofa. As she tried to make herself comfortable, her jacket draped over her, she started to think about how she could have been so wrong about him. It was bad enough that Slade thought it was okay to spend the night with someone under police protection, but to then try it with her as well on what was technically the same night? Holly knew he had an ego, but he obviously had the morals of a sailor on shore leave, too. At least she'd found all this out before it was too late.

But the way he'd reacted had left her confused. What right did he have to be angry with her? Because she'd spoiled his fun? He seemed to be denying he'd spent the night with Sonja Duvall, which was both ridiculous and insulting because she had heard it with her own ears – and not just hearsay or gossip, it had come from his own mouth.

She had been living in daydream-land for too long. It had been ridiculous to think that anything could ever happen between her and Slade – they were too different, too completely unsuited. If anything good had come of the evening, it was the fact that the decision had at least been made for her.

Holly curled up into a foetal position as best she could, her coat rolled up under her head, and tried to empty her mind of the events of the evening. She wasn't looking forward to facing Slade in the morning.

When she eventually did sleep, it was only fitfully. At some point in the early hours she woke up to find that the living room was freezing cold, and she had a cramping ache all down her spine.

Then she noticed that, piled on the coffee table beside her, was a pillow and a folded duvet.

When Slade came down the stairs into the living room at seven o'clock, he could already smell coffee. Ordinarily he would wander down to the bathroom in just a towel or his underwear, but under the circumstances this didn't seem like a very good idea. Holly was standing by the kitchen counter nursing a mug of coffee, and she looked up momentarily when he appeared.

"Hi," he said. He suspected that it would fall to him to try and break the ice.

"Hi," Holly replied.

He tried to gauge her mood, but couldn't decide between resentment, embarrassment or shyness. He really needed to get better at this.

"Thanks for making coffee," he said.

"Thought we could both use some."

Slade gestured to the fruit bowl in the kitchen, which contained a slightly sorry-looking apple and two bananas.

"Help yourself," he told her. "Sorry there isn't much else."

He felt as though there was a slight thaw between them - maybe that was down to the duvet and pillow. Slade had been unable to get to sleep, his conscience getting the better of him, so at some point in the small hours he had taken his pillow and duvet downstairs to Holly. He hadn't worked out what he would do for bedclothes, but he could always put on more clothes. It was cold in his living room, but Slade had resisted the natural urge to cover Holly with the duvet – that might make things even more awkward in the morning than they were already likely to be.

Holly took the apple from the fruit bowl and gave it the once-over before starting to eat it, thoughtfully. She seemed to be deliberately avoiding his gaze.

"Did you want to take a shower?" Slade asked.

"I already did."

"Oh. Right."

He poured himself a coffee but left it on the counter. This seemed ridiculous; they had to both get past this at some point – in the light of day, Slade was sure it was just a misunderstanding that needed to be cleared up. His anger from the previous evening had subsided and all he really wanted was to clear the air.

"Holly -" he began, but she cut him off.

"We should probably leave soon," she said. "It's a twenty-five minute drive."

He nodded, getting the message.

"I'll jump in the shower."

"I'll be in the car."  
>As Slade gulped down his coffee and watched Holly disappear out of the front door, he gave a hefty sigh. At this rate, it was going to be a long day...<p>

THE END


End file.
